


Fragmentary

by Chronolith



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: F/F, Mental Health Issues, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-08-13
Updated: 2001-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-10 13:10:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chronolith/pseuds/Chronolith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hilde and Relena, trying to find equilibrium after burning too high and too bright</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Layer 01: Reboot

Layer 01: Reboot

After being a Mobile Suit pilot, going back to high school was something of an anti-climax. After living on a permanent adrenaline high, sitting in some stuffy classroom listening to guy who ain't got a freaking clue is not something that I really want to do. Especially since Tokyo seems to take personal offense at the mere concept of air conditioning. I think she's looking at it as a way to rehabilitate us. Or at least alleviate her own guilt. Not even her Worship, the high and mighty Relena Darlian Peacecraft, had found a way to tell the Lady no.

Lady Une managed to get all of the gundam pilots--Heero, Duo, Trowa, Quatre, and Wufei--to agree to go to this school she'd picked out. Then she harassed Dorothy Catalonia and me into going. I said I would simply to shut her up. It wasn't really fair; she ambushed me while I was still confined to a hospital bed. I heard she did the same to Quatre. Relena didn't even put up a fight, from what I gather. Lady Une managed to basically force us to agree to this though a truly unnerving combination of guilt trip and out and out threat of violence. The lady is more than a little disturbed, and this is coming from someone who used to pilot a Mobile Suit.There are other students who were child pilots, like me, or child diplomats, like Sylvia.

The rest of the students are either overwhelmed by awe or terror, because they don't even try to talk to us. Not even her Worship, who, apparently, everyone is supposed to love so much.

So we're all this school together trying to deal with our extensive emotional and psychological baggage while getting the traditional education. Somehow I fail to understand why I really need to know what happened close to four thousand years ago in some dead government, but Lady Une said it was important and there is one lady I really don't want to tangle with unless I absolutely have to.

That brings me to my roommate. (Well, it doesn't, actually, but I want to talk about her and you are a captive audience. Enjoy.) The perfect blonde princess is apparently suffering from more psychological issues than you can shake a really big stick at, and she knows it. I just don't think she really cares any more. After watching her brother die, the life just went out of her. I'm not saying that she's a walking corpse or anything, but the fight in her is just gone. She not really interested in anything; it's like she's permanently bored. Relena manages to make bored really pretty too. Just sayin'.

Which is why I'm standing in the doorway watching her as she stares out the window, her chin on one delicate hand. She's staring out the window like the answers to all her problems are floating in those pretty puffy clouds. Sometimes I wonder what the world looks like to her now, and if it's changed a whole lot from what it used to be.

"Hey, Rel," I call to her. She twitches a shoulder like she's heard me, but isn't going to respond. I grab my schoolbag and throw it over my shoulder. "Come on, we'll be late to class."

She stands up and smooths her skirt automatically. She looks pretty cute in our uniform. We've got the entire Irish Catholic schoolgirl look going on: maroon plaid pleated skirts, white shirts, maroon sweaters, white socks…Doc Martens. Both Relena and I wear the skirts short--barely within the school regulations--with these freaking huge socks that reach our calves but are still bulky. (Dorothy convinced us that this was a typical Japanese style and I don't feel like starting a fight by telling her I think it makes us look like Clydesdale horses.) I started the short skirt thing because I like it that way. Dorothy started the sock thing. And Relena managed to keep the administration off our back off of habit, I guess. Or because Dorothy has some sort of hold on her. (Dorothy has dirt on everyone.) After the first two weeks the entire girl student body followed suit. Relena still has that effect on people.

Relena still wears her hair in those two braids pulled back on either side of her face, but with her now perpetually bored expression she doesn't look so prissy. Her sweater hangs low over her hips, making the skirt flare a little. She keeps the sleeves pushed up the way I do. She looks like the bad girl from a shojo manga. All she needs to do is chew gum.

I guess that makes me the cute perky one, except I'm the one with the mouth. More often than not we're together. Not because we're roommates, or because we've bonded over our experiences in the war—we don't even talk about them—but because we keep a united front. I don't know who against any more, but at first it was against everyone. I know I was so bitter about everything that I couldn't see straight. Lying in a hospital bed listening to your life drip next to you will do that. And Relena … well, god only knows what goes through her head. Nothing pleasant from what I have gathered.

Relena's soft footsteps snap me back to the present. She's holding her bag demurely before her, watching me with what might be an annoyed expression. It's damned hard to tell with her now.

"Hilde," Relena says. "We're already late."

"No, we're not," I protest, and she points to the clock. 8 on the dot, which means the morning rush hour on the trains. We're late.

"Shit," I say.

"Pretty much," she says.  
~~

We live in Meguro-ku, which means we have to go through both Shibuya and Shinjuku to get to school. Hitting the two busiest stations at eight in the morning is pure hell; trust me. It's the start of the school year, which means it's spring in Tokyo—complete with sakura petals and heat. God, it's hot. I will never understand the desire to live on a planet with unregulated weather.

Shoved into a tiny, non-air-conditioned train car next to grope happy businessmen is enough to put anyone in an evil frame of mind. I can feel my left eye start to twitch when I get 'bumped' and then 'bumped' again. I look up at Relena. Her eyes have narrowed, and she gives me the barest of nods. At the same time we both mutter just loud enough to be heard, "Molestor."

Suddenly we have personal space again. None of the businessmen will look us in the eye, nor will they look at anyone else. The older women glower at them in disapproval, and the schoolboys snicker. One guy a year older than us gives us a thumbs up. I shrug like it was nothing, and grin. Relena cocks her chin, and looks at him hard enough that he looks away.

"He was being nice," I mutter.

"Let him be nice to someone else," she replies without much emotion. Not that Relena shows much emotion one way or another these days. The shrinks think that she's repressing her grief, fear, and rage. They're calling it a coping mechanism after having her life go through the cosmic grinder not once, not twice, but three times. She thinks they're full of shit.

"Oh, are you jealous of me?" I simper up at her. She flicks her eyes down at me, and then cocks one eyebrow.

"Sure," she says. She's the master of giving insults without actually saying anything at all. It is a rare and difficult art that she practices on Duo. Actually, I think she insults him because it's habit and it hasn't occurred to her not to do it anymore.

"Gee, thanks," I say and roll my eyes. "What an ego booster."

"Glad to be of service," she says, caressing the word service enough to make the boys clustered to our left blush. I grin up at her, and tilt my head to the side.

"Just what service would you like to perform?" I whisper in a teasingly low voice.

Her breath tickles my ear when she replies as we get squished together again. "What service do you want?"

Her eyes are a deep, dark blue of stormy oceans and windswept skies. I can't tell if she's fucking with me or serious. I'm not sure which option is the one making my heart beat faster. Our stop comes and saves me from having to answer.   
~~

"Did the damned scientists put something in their water?" Gripes Sylvia as we walk to class in a little cluster. I've got my arms behind my head, my bag lightly clasped in both hands. Sylvia's swinging her bag like she'd like to hit someone with it. Dorothy walks behind us next to Relena laughing quietly. Relena's quiet, like always.

"Wouldn't be surprised," I reply.

"Is there a single straight one out of the bunch?" she wails.

"Wufei," Dorothy says in a sardonic tone, the irony is not lost on her.

"Great, the misogynist is the only straight one," Sylvia mutters.

"He's not so much a misogynist as he is conflicted," Relena states. She does that every once in a while, makes this amazingly on-the-mark comment, then she goes back to saying nothing.

"Conflicted about what?" Sylvia demands. Relena just shrugs one slender shoulder. It's a gesture that she's learned from Dorothy, another one of her ways of saying everything and nothing at once. You can see why the pair of them made good politicians.

"Who the fuck knows, and who the fuck wants to?" I ask before pushing open the door to our class. The teacher doesn't even glare at us, just gives this long-suffering sigh and gestures us to our seats.

Relena and I both sit in the back of the class on the far left so I can see the door. Paranoia is a wonderful, much maligned trait.

"You're late," Heero's voice is still nasal. Relena ignores him; I flip him off.

"Very mature, Hilde," Duo mockingly chides.

"But deeply satisfying," I reply and smile sweetly.

"All that really matters," he says. We share a grin that's almost what it used to be. Relena stops at her desk, and waits for me to take my place next to her. She gives me a glance that might be annoyed, might be bored. It's hard to tell.

The teacher waits for us to settle ourselves with the patience of one who has suffered long and expects to suffer longer. I almost feel sorry for the poor bastard. I wouldn't want to teach us either. The way the class is arranged the girls are sort of in a cluster next to the windows, the gundam pilots spread around us like they're going to protect us from whatever comes charging through the doors. Which is ridiculous on a number of levels. One being the fact that most offensive attacks come through the windows, in which case we're more like a buffer zone. The second reason is that the pilots are largely indifferent to our existence; which is fine, since we're pretty much indifferent to our existence as well.

I shoot a covert glance at Relena as the lecture resumes. Her long hair pools on her desk across her notebook, in one hand she spins her pen idly. She's staring out the window again, watching the clouds pass overhead. Not a good sign.

Duo passes me a small note. 'How's the Princess?'

I'm not sure if it's actual concern, guilt, or something in between, but Duo tends to express concern with Relena's well-being in a general sense. He doesn't care all that much, but he'd prefer she didn't off herself.

'Same as she always is,' I write back. I chew on the end of my pen, and give in to a moment of petty whining. 'I can't get at her.'

Duo nods his head a little as he reads my note, like I was just confirming his suspicions. 'Walling herself up inside, eh?'

'Sort of like watching the reverse process of Heero," I reply. The Perfect Soldier is slowly coming out of his protective armor, but it is a rather painful process to watch. Both he and Duo have a whole host of issues to deal with, but at least they realize that there's something wrong and want to change it. Relena…. Well, Relena listens politely, and ignores us all.

'At least Heero was expecting to go through all this shit. I just don't think he was planning on surviving it,' Duo's note manages to convey a small amount of asperity with the current situation. Frustration with being stuck in the school, frustration with Relena and Heero who refuse to let anyone behind their walls, and probably frustration with me and him who both have problems that we don't talk about.

'We've been seeing the shrinks to fucking long,' I write back. 'We're starting to sound like them.'

He reads that and starts to laugh. The laughter has that slightly maniacal edge to it that I've always associated with Duo/Shinigami, not Duo Maxwell. The teacher stops in the middle of the lecture, turning very slowly away from the blackboard to look at us. The students who actually chose to be here are very careful not to look at us. The tension settles in the room like rainwater in a barrel.

"Is there something that you wish to share with us Mr. Maxwell?" The teacher asks with quiet dignity. I've never bothered to learn his name. Of course, this is only the first week of class so maybe I have an excuse.

"Nah, not really," Duo says, eyes twinkling with good humor, or mania. With Duo it's always a toss up.

The teacher looks at us for a long time, and then goes back to the lecture without another word. He's learned not to press any of us for explanations. Sometimes I wonder what it's like to teach kids that have never been kids, and then I think I really don't want to know. Duo stretches back and drops another note on my desk.

'Now I know I'm fucked beyond all hope,' it says.

'"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,"' I write. When he reads that he turns around to face me, shrugs, and gives me a rueful half smile.   
~~

Today was the day for our weekly 'tune up.' Basically, everyone who had been 'negatively impacted by the Eve Wars'—which was just about everyone in the school, but in particular the Gundam pilots and us girls—had to sit through a session with one of the six shrinks working at the school.

Some of us do exactly that, sit through the session. Relena just sits there and listen, or at least appears to listen, and then leaves. She never talks. I always talk, but I damned careful not to say anything. All in all, it's a fucking waste of time.

The session starts out the same way every time, never any fucking variety. The shrink watches me with steely eyes that never give anything as I walk through the door. I give her the 'sweet and perky smile' as Sylvia has dubbed it and flop down into one of the cushy leather chairs. They're big enough, or I'm small enough, that I could sleep in them without any complaint.

"You're late, Hilde," the shrink says. Her voice is nicer than her eyes. I'm betting she practices the voice.

"Class got out a little late, so I'm late," I say, and shrug, raising my hands to demonstrate my helplessness in the matter. "Don't suppose I'm so late that we can just skip the entire appointment?"

She frowns in disappointment and shakes her head slowly. I sigh dramatically, which causes me to sink a little too low in the chair. I squirm back up and then rest my head on of the massive armrests. The only person who could possible rest their arms on those things would be Rashid, Quatre's personal giant.

"These appointments are very important," she says to me, her voice thick with sincerity, but her eyes look as bored as I feel.

"That's a load of shit, and we both know it," I say. "You can't force a person to get better."

"You're absolutely right, Hilde," she agrees with infinite reasonableness, which is a bad sign. "So why do you not want to get better?"

I smile sweetly. "Sure I want to get better, but _better_ would be the keyword. I don't want to be fixed."

"You think we're trying to fix you?" She asks me, playing like she's startled.

"You know you are."

Her eyes get big and round in earnest denial. I listen to her rant about how they're not trying to fix anyone, but help us for a while. Then I cock my head to the side and ask with false sweetness. "Do you really believe that shit?"

That stops her dead in mid-sentence. She looks at me, really looks at me, and I know for once she isn't seeing some high school girl too short for her age—malnutrition makes us all late bloomers. She sees me: a person who has killed, someone who knows far more than any sixteen-year-old has the right to know. We stare at each other for a long time, listening to each other breathe. I'm pretty sure it disturbs her far, far more than it disturbs me.

"I don't know anymore," she looks away from me, confusion filling her eyes. It was then that I realized that she was very young for a shrink, not much over twenty-five. "I don't know."

I'm not sure how to tell her in words that she would understand that no one really knows, that's the bitch of the matter.  
~~

I stare out the window off the train, rocking a little with its movements, but not saying anything. The meeting with the shrink has left me feeling bone-achingly tired. Normally I have all this angry tension running around in my body, needing to be let free, but today I just want to go to sleep. The steady thathuck-thuck of the train isn't helping with the overwhelming drowsiness. Relena catches my eyes in our reflection on the window. I give her a small smile.

"Are you all right?" she asks quietly, almost at a whisper, but in the crowded train car you only need a whisper.

"Worried?" I ask, and bat my eyes. "Oh! Relena! You do love me!"

"Moron. I don't want to have to carry you home," she says with what might be affection, her voice is still that perfect politician polite. She could be telling you to go fuck roadkill and her voice would be in that impeccably polite tone.

I snap my fingers in mock dismay. "Damn."

"Are you all right?" she asks again. "You seem subdued."

I love her vocabulary. You can tell that she grew up with class just by her diction. It's not just money in her background, but class—and that's something that can't be defined by mere words. "Psycho-analyzing your shrink is more work than it looks."

That earns me a long hard look from those deep blue eyes. "You analyzed the shrink?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I asked a question that required her to actually think about what we were doing in that cramped little room, and, God forbid, she actually thought about it," I tell her.

"What did you ask her?" There's real honest to goodness curiosity in her voice. It makes her voice warm, sort of fuzzy like a new terrycloth towel. I like it.

"I asked her if she really believed in what she was saying to me," I say.

Relena whistles softly. "Never one for pulling your punches, were you?"

"No, I'm not."

"What did she do?"

"Sat there for a while, and then she said she didn't know if she believed in what she was saying or not."

"Then what?"

"Nothing much."

"Uh-huh." The contempt was rich in her tone. Contempt was something she was good at.

"Actually, once she admitted that she didn't know what the hell she was doing either, things were better," I state more than a little defensively.

"Did you actually say anything?" she asks me. Relena always knows which questions need asking, and rarely hesitates to ask them if she sees the need. I like that about her, most of the time.

"Hell no," I say, and we both laugh. Even to me the laughter sounds painful.


	2. Layer 02: Dreaming

I don't know why people are so interested in the dreams, especially the dreams of soldiers. People are so bloody curious. I think it's a rather morbid curiosity. People have asked me: shrinks, guys trying to pick me up, people who really haven't thought about the question. I think if I ever told them what I really dream about they'd run screaming. Hell, I know I would.

Tonight is one of the bad nights. One of the nights where I wake up trying to swallow air like it was water, my hair sticking to my face with sweat, the sheets tangled and torn around my limbs. It's not pretty.

Sometimes I dream that I killed Duo instead of rescuing him. I dream that I put a bullet between those laughing eyes and watch the life drain away, and feel nothing. I dream that I destroy all that energy and feel absolutely nothing. I dream that I act the way I should have, if OZ's training had really sunk in. The dreams about what could have happened are always worse than the dreams about what did happen. Yeah, being caught by OZ after I turned traitor hadn't been much fun, but it could have been a helluva a lot worse.

Tonight I dreamed I killed Relena. We're talking on the Libra, she tells me her name with that proud dignity, and I kill her. I don't know why, but I kill her just the same. Because I'm there and I can. That's the dream that makes me scream until I can't talk the next morning. I sit very, very still on my bed, listening to myself breathe slowly in the darkness. I wait until my night vision clears. I can see the furniture so neatly arranged—Lady Une's doing, not ours. I ignore the light switch as I walk through the room. I've done this so many times that I don't need it.

Relena's already sitting in our combination kitchen/dinning room/living room. She looks up at me a little startled. Her hair is loose about her face like a gold curtain, hiding everything except those impossibly blue eyes. She holds a small glass of amber liquid in a grip so tight her knuckles have gone white. Guess I'm not the only one whose been having nightmares.

She doesn't say anything as I stumble into the kitchen, and fumble for a glass. We still aren't entirely comfortable with each other, not yet. I grab the bottle and the glass, and make my way to sit down next to her on the big leather couch that dominates our otherwise spartan apartment.

"Hey," I say. I'm a little more interested in downing the two fingers of whiskey than I am in talking.

The corner of Relena's mouth twitches as she watches me. "Good evening."

Even at three in the morning she's still perfectly polite. She uses that politeness like armor to keep everyone out. She uses it the same way Duo uses humor. There's something there behind that mask that you can't quite touch. She sighs a little and arches her back, cat-like. Her long wheat-colored hair spills across the arm of the couch, and I find myself staring. I sudden punch of _want_ was unexpected.

"Why are you up?" I ask to cover my sudden fascination with the long line of her stomach.

"Couldn't sleep," she says and shrugs one slender shoulder. We'd been living together ever since I got out of the hospital, so that would make it about three weeks; but this is a first. We've both had nightmares, everyone does, but we've never talked about them. Now the subject hangs between us like a challenge neither one of us wants to take.

"Me neither," I reply, swirling the whiskey gently, just to watch it move in the glass. I don't really want to drink it anymore; just holding it is enough.

She leans back against the arm of the couch, staring up at the ceiling. "Nightmares?"

"Yeah." I down some of the liquid, and sigh as it hits the back of my throat like fire. It's good whiskey.

"'And I had a dream with your face in it/that scares me awake…" she sings quietly, and then laughs as she sits up. "Strange what you remember. I can't remember the color of my brother's eyes, but I can remember a lyric from some old song."

The lyric makes my shoulders tense. It's a little too close to my nightmare. I shrug nonchalantly. "It's not like you knew your brother all that well."

She laughs and it makes something inside me ache, like I'd scratched opened an old wound. "We met maybe three times that I can remember, but I'm supposed to mourn him." Relena stares at the glass like it would give her the answers. "And maybe I do, but it's more like I mourn the idea of a brother, not him."

I pat her back awkwardly, unsure of what I should be doing. She sounds so lost, so uncertain that it's disconcerting. I've never heard Relena sound apprehensive about anything. She's always known what she's doing, or at least looked like it. Now I think I'm getting to see exactly how much it costs her to put up that front. "Can't tell you which one is worse. I can't remember having a family at all."

She looks at me for a moment. "Must have been lonely."

I shrug. "Mostly it was just hungry."

"You must think I'm pretty pathetic to be whining like this when I was brought up in the lap of luxury." The self-disgust was rich in her tone, cutting her to the bone. I think about her statement for a while before trying to find an answer.

"No, you had a lot of shit happen to you," I say it slow, trying to figure it out for myself. "Most of it harder because you so easy before, but you had more expectations put on you than any of us. Just because you born with a certain name, you were supposed to bring peace to a people who had no real idea what it was. I don't think you had it easy. Maybe not as physically hard, but not easy."

She listens to me for a while, and then nods. "Thanks."

I shrug. "If you martyr yourself, then I'll think you're damned pathetic."

That makes her laugh. A real laugh, the first I've ever heard from her. It's bright and clear like sunlight after a thunderstorm. "Don't worry. There aren't any causes left for me to martyr myself for."

I look at her a little hard, and she shrugs. "You can't tell me that you haven't thought of it."

The scary thing is that I have thought about it too. I think we all have. It's hard not to when you wake up in the morning and wonder: 'what's the point'--when all you want to do is roll over and go back to sleep. Sometimes it feels like we packed so much into too short a time so there's nothing left but ashes because we burned too high and too bright. "Thought about it."

She nods. "And then I remember that it can't be like this all the time."

"It can be worse," I say, and she gives me an exasperated look. I shrug unrepentantly. "Is that what your nightmare was about?"

Relena's silent for so long that I don't think she's going to answer, but she does. "No. The dream I had doesn't make any real sense. I dream that I have this ball, this perfect ball, and I put it on a shelf to keep it protected. But every time I put it up there it falls and shatters into a million shining pieces. So I put them back together again, but I can never make everything fit the way they should…. I know it sounds stupid, but I _had_ to put that ball back together…."

"You don't have to be Jung to figure that one out," I say.

She looks out the sliding glass doors that lead to our balcony for a long while. "No," she says, "No, you don't."

~~

I stumble into the kitchen the next morning bleary-eyed and monosyllabic. Relena hands me a cup of coffee, and it takes me a moment to process what it is. She's sitting at one of the high stools that stand next to the kitchen counter; she watches me without comment. A cup of coffee sits next to her with a folded paper. Six o'clock in the morning and she looks alert, competent, and perfectly calm. It just isn't fair.

"Drink it," she says. I just look at her blankly. "The coffee, idiot, drink it."

I look down at the cup, take a deep swallow, and choke. Relena pounds me on the back, and I glare at her. "This isn't even liquid!"

"I thought Germans liked strong coffee," she says with mock confusion.

I stick my tongue out at her, and finish off the rest of the coffee. Now I know why she looks so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, this stuff has enough kick to start a dead battery.

"Hurry up," she admonishes me lightly, not really paying attention as she returns to her paper. "We shouldn't be late twice in a row. Or the Lady will get on our case."

I make a face. "Why the hell we have to take classes in Japan where they have class on Saturday is beyond me."

Relena just shrugs her shoulder eloquently, and picks up her bag. "Could be worse?"

"How so?"

"We could be at a Catholic school with admonitions against homosexuality and other carnal sins," she says blandly, and I nearly choke on my coffee again as I try to laugh and swallow at the same time.

"Could you see someone telling Heero that? Hell, someone telling Quatre?" I laugh so hard I have to hold myself up.

"Having Quatre act as if he were affected by the Zero System would go counter to the Lady's plans," Relena agrees, and the corner of her full lips quirk. I grin at her, and she points to my backpack. "Hurry up."

"Going, I'm going," I mutter.

She holds the door open as I try to straighten my socks and put my shoes on at the same time, a neat trick let me tell you. When I walk by her to get out, she stops me.

"Thank you," she says, and I know it's not for laughing at the lame joke.

"Hey, no worries," I say and she smiles.

"You owe me a bedtime story next time," she says.

"All the ones I know would give you nightmares," I tell her, and she shrugs as if to say 'and the difference would be?'

~~

Saturdays are our short days at school, and I'm damned if I know why they even bother with them at all. None of us pay any attention, and the teachers don't even pretend to try to make us. Everyone just wants the day to be over. Maybe that's why it drags on and on the way it does, because we are all praying so hard for it to be over.

Relena almost manages to sneak out of the mayhem that our class has denigrated into without me noticing, but the flick of her dark blonde hair catches my attention as she quietly leaves the room. Duo watches me watch her leave, and then raises one eyebrow in a silent question. I shake my head. I have no idea what might have set her off, but damage control might be a good idea. I nod to Duo, grab my bag, and stalk after her. The teacher blinks at me in surprise when I ask permission to leave early. A soft shy smile blooms over his sharp features when he nods. I'm feeling nice today, so sue me.

Relena likes high places. Why, I'm not real sure, but she likes to be above things so she can see everything coming. That probably says something, but I've never bothered with trying to figure out exactly what. I make my way up to the roof of the school, taking the steps two at a time. After bounding up seven flights of stairs I'm a little breathless. I throw open the door to the roof, and then lean against it panting.

Relena lays dead center on the roof, spread eagle, staring up at the cloudless sky. I blink at the aching blue of the sky and shake my head, still feels weird seeing sky. She's got her cardigan bunched under her head like a pillow. Her white school shirt is unbuttoned at the cuffs and pushed up to her elbows. One arm lies on her stomach the other is thrown out across the roof. I can see the crisp white of her bra peeking out from under her partially unbuttoned shirt. All in all, it looks like she's been taking a nap. She sits up slowly, head rolling up, spilling her hair across her chest, and then blinks those deep, deep blue eyes at me.

"Where's the fire?" she asks in what might have been an amused tone.

For a half second I'm completely and utterly incapable of rational thought as a wave of lust hits me so hard it makes me shudder, grabbing at the door frame to keep myself standing.

I know she sees it by the way her eyes widen a fraction, her pupils dilate, and her mouth opens just a little as if to ask a question that won't come. (Adrenaline kicking in with a fight or flight response, making me hyperaware.) I wonder if I should just play it off and pray it doesn't set up a million unspoken, never asked questions between us, or if I should just walk over and kiss the life out of her.

Well, I never was one for living in regret.

She doesn't get up as I walk across the open roof to her. The ever-present wind ruffles my still-short hair and makes my skirt whip around my thighs. I stop in front of her and just look down, enjoying the view. Damn, but she's nice to look at. I can see the long arch of her neck and the swell of her breasts as she tilts her head to look up at me. There's something akin to a challenge in her expression, but her eyes are so afraid.

I kneel next to her, and she licks her lips unconsciously. It's a delicious gesture. There are so many emotions warring in those cerulean eyes as I reach out to cup her face that I know I must have managed to sneak under one of those carefully constructed walls.

"Trust me," I whisper to her.

She nods a little, a gesture I feel rather than see, but it's all that I need. I watch as her eyes flutter shut in sweet nervousness. I watch as her chest lifts with her anticipatory breath when I lean down to her, still kneeling above her. I keep watching her as I gently, slowly press my lips chastely to hers, my hands still cupping her face. Then I'm lost in the taste of her, the feel of her.

She moans a little, opening her lips just a little, and I take advantage of the opportunity shamelessly. Relena doesn't resist as I deepen the kiss. The way her tongue delicately, tentatively touches mine makes me growl into her mouth. She delights me by nipping at my lips in response I let my hands slide away from her face to tangle in her glorious hair. Relena goes up to her knees, so she's above me, and brings her hands to trace small circles on my back. I break the kiss reluctantly.

Relena's eyes are heavy and dark, her cheeks flushed, and her mouth a little swollen from our kiss. She looks pleased, hesitant, and expectant all at once. We kneel together on the hot concrete roof, as the humid wind tousles our hair, just watching each other. Neither of us had expected that kiss. Neither of us had been looking for sex or all the complications that inevitably come with it. But I want her.

I reach up and gently, slowly undo two more buttons. Her eyes widen, but she makes no move to stop me. I let my fingers drift across her smooth skin. Relena shudders at the touch, and I sigh. Duo is the only other person I have wanted with this same burning need, and that was different. Lust, need, pure desire, combine with the torturous heat of the midday Tokyo sun on the exposed concrete makes my skin unbearably sensitive to the lazy wind, to Relena's clutching fingers. And I /want/ so badly that it overrides everything else. A Leo could land next to us and I wouldn't care as long as I could touch her.

I push the cloth out of the way with forced control. I'm not sure how far Relena's gone, much less with another girl, but I'm positive that if she told me 'no' right now it would probably kill me. I'd beg if she asked me to. Right now, I'd crawl over glass just to touch her skin.

"Please…." The word tumbles out of my mouth like a moan.

Relena laughs lowly as I lower my mouth to her bared skin. I taste the faint salt, smell the hint of lilac soap, hear her shaky intake of breathe, and I want more.

The rough concrete bruises and abrades my knees as I lean towards Relena; the faint whisper of pain makes the sensation of her smooth skin against my lips just that much better. I wrap one arm around her waist, my hand resting on her hips, while the other one goes up to bare more of her skin. She moans and arches her back as if offering me the swell of her breasts. I'm more than happy to accept the offer. I tug down her plain cotton bra to expose her nipple. She makes a small whimpering sound as I blow on it teasingly. I lick it with a quick swipe of my tongue and her fingers tighten on my arms.

"Hilde!" My name comes out as an exclamatory growl, her fingers squeezing down on my arms hard enough to leave bruises. I laugh, and it's a dark one full of promises that can't be mentioned in mixed company.

I roll one nipple between my fingers while bringing the other one into my mouth. I scrap it lightly with my teeth and Relena sags against my arm that is wrapped around her waist. I'm vaguely aware of her hands drifting lower to clench in my skirt. I love the weight of her breasts, warm and soft, in my hands. I nip at her neck almost affectionately. Relena sinks backwards, and I move with her as she lies back against the sun-scorched concrete.

I stay above her on my hands and knees, one left between hers. Relena moves sinuously to straighten her legs, and I'm very much aware of how long they are. She runs her hands up the backs my legs to rest lightly on my thighs, and I sigh. She smiles shyly as she gently kneads the muscles.

The contrasting sensations of the rough, hot concrete against my palms and knees, and Relena's cool hands running smoothly over the backs my thighs makes me shudder. I lower my head to kiss her, and the kiss is more demanding than I intended it to be. Relena keeps her eyes open and fixed on mine. If there was a way to smirk and kiss someone at the same time I swear she's doing it. Then her fingers slip underneath my skirt, making me gasp. There's a question in her eyes as she hesitates. I kiss her again, slow and thorough.

Her fingers slip underneath my plain cotton underwear and gently touches the sensitive inner folds. "Relena…."

Her fingers stop and I want to cry.

"Touch me," I try to make it a command but it comes out more a breathy plea.

Her eyes are wide and wondering as she explores me, and it feels like she's laying all of me bare for her examination. I blush shyly as her eyes seem to devour my every expression. In her face I can see her thoughts. I can see that she thinks I'm beautiful, and I'm humbled.

Her fingers move inside me, and brush the place that makes my nerves whimper and my mind freeze. My underwear are a lost cause now, soaked through and a little torn where Relena has gotten irritated with their continued existence. I feel her body rise to meet mine, and I sag against her. Relena kisses me as if she would climb into my mouth, I wrap my arms loosely around her neck as I shudder and moan, helpless in the face of her touch.

She's got me trapped, knees spread on either side of her lap, clutching at her shoulders and hair. Relena's laughing very, very softly—I can feel the faint puffs of her breath across my throat—as my fingers spasm in her hair. Her fingers are slick-wet, sticky and she shows me, eyes twinkling before she places one finger in her mouth and sucking it clean. I feel like my head is going to explode watching her do that and then she places one finger in _my_ mouth. Locking eyes with her, her finger in my mouth—my own taste heavy in my mouth—makes the blood pound in my head. She moans as wrap my tongue around her finger, working it as she pulls it back out of my mouth.

"Fuck me," I whisper at her and her smile is a little wicked.  
She slides two fingers into me _hard_, making me arch and claw at her shoulders. "I thought I was?"

I'd laugh with her, at her, but I'm too busy dying as each one of my nerves burn out in a blaze of pleasure so intense it's almost pain. Then the release comes like a violent wave tossing me helpless onto a foreign shore. I drag in air like a swimmer breaking free of the ocean.

Relena kisses my neck, my exposed chest, whispering my name as I shudder against her. I'm not sure how I ended up being the seduced, but I'm really not going to complain. She cradles me gently against her with one arm, using the other to support the weight of both of us. I shift my weight backwards, away from her, but I keep my fingers tangled with hers.

I raise her hand to my lips, and she watches me with an indulgently amused expression. I kiss her fingertips, her first and second knuckles, and then I very deliberately lick the sensitive skin between her fingers. Relena's watching me with a complicated expression. But she's fucked me brainless and I intend to return the favor.

She kneels above me, her long hair tumbling down like a curtain to enclose this moment between the two of us, even though we're sitting in the middle of an open roof under the glaring. I reach up and undo those two fussy little braids, and she scowls a little. I smile sweetly at her. I was taking away the symbols of her control, claiming them. I pull her face to mine with my hands fisted in her hair.

"You owe me a moan," I whisper to her, my voice sounds breathy in anticipation. I want very much to see what's under that layer of chilled politeness, diplomatic detachment.

She smirks at me, but there's a sweet nervousness in her eyes, those deep blue eyes watch my every movement with a tension that I can almost touch. I don't think that Relena has surrendered to anyone. She may have been controlled, manipulated, but that core of what makes Relena what she is has never been touched. I kiss her chin, the long line of her neck and bared shoulders, and she sways against me. She steadies herself by planting her knees on either side of mine. I can't help but grin. Our positions are now neatly reversed, but she's taller than me, which leaves me with far more interesting options.

I pull her shirt out from her skirt and arch up to kiss the line from her neck to her stomach. The sun heats her skin where it's exposed deliciously. I kiss the silky skin of her upper chest. She tastes slightly salty from the pressing heat. The taste makes me smile.

"I am going to get you to beg," I tell her, kissing the smooth valley between her breasts. I'm pleased at how my voice is nonchalant, controlled, even though her hands are clutching at my hair. Relena growls at me in response and I bit her breast, just hard enough to leave a little bruise. She whimpers.

I kiss the delicate place where her breastbone ends, and the sensitive skin of the undersides of her breasts. Drawing my fingers up and down the insides of her thighs, I skirt around her labia, but I can smell her arousal.

Kissing the long line of her stomach makes her giggle and squirm. I'm glad that I kept weight lifting because I can force her to stay up right when she tries to grind down against my thigh. "I said I wanted you to beg."

"Hilde!" her voice is delightful, but not what I asked for.

"That's very pretty, but not begging," I state as I look up at her, sitting back on my haunches. Relena glares at me, chest heaving. There's a calculating look in her eyes that I decide to short circuit. I have no illusions about being able to out think the lady who took the Romerfeller corporation for a ride.

"Oh _fuck_, Hilde!" Relena's scream is almost as good as her begging. She's hot, slick when I slide two fingers in her, thumb pressing down on her clit. I keep smiling at her, sweet and innocent, while my fingers work until her legs are damn and trembling. She's trying to glare at me, but its ruin by the way she clutches at her own hair, back arching.

While she's still shaking with the force of her orgasm, I raise her skirt, grinning at the phrase and the connotations it brings to mind. I give her pale upper thigh one long lick, and she whines high and tight, hands fisting in my hair. I slip one hand under the band of her pale panties, while bringing the other to the middle of her back to hold her.

Dragging my teeth across her clit makes her give a strangled cry. All I can smell is the musk of her and her arousal flows down my chin like peach juice. I press her forward against my face while my tongue works inside her, my thumb replacing my teeth against her clit. It's an awkward position, but god so good while she whines and shakes and comes over and over against my mouth.

"Hilde…" Relena moans when I finally let her go.

I reach up to tweak her nose and she licks my fingers—still sticky with her cum. "I'll get you to beg next time."

"Pretty confident of yourself," she says, and it would be more impressive of her voice wasn't rough with sex. I just arch an eyebrow at her and she collapses against me giggling. I let her bear my body down to the hot concrete. She snuggles against me and I'm only a little surprised.

Relena rolls onto her side to look at me, her face cushioned by her hand. I roll to face her, resting my head on my outstretched arm. Her eyes close slowly while her breathing evens out once again, but she's smiling. I reach out to lay my hand on her side and she intertwines her fingers with mine. We lay on the warmed concrete more comfortable than we should be for a long time. Long enough for the shadows of the taller buildings to creep towards us stealthily.

"Relena," I finally ask. "Did I interrupt your nap?"

"What?" She says with mock innocence, her eyes finally opening, "You mean I'm not still dreaming?"


End file.
